Chapter 4 Tattoos up the Wazoo #2
“Hey, I can see you spiraling.” All her perfectly crooked teeth are showing, and there are dimples under her eyes. “I know I’m not your ma. But do you still want a hug?”
Something between my lungs flutters. Aiko and I have known each other for only a few hours, and I’m already touched that she knows I need one right now. And if Ma’s halfway around the world, then maybe my new friend Aiko is the best placeholder in all of Japan.
Aiko pulls me in, and my head slides over her shoulder.
A smile creeps onto my face. Not a Lilyn smile.
An Aiko-sized one. I might be far from home, but I’m in good hands.
Well, good arms. Aiko’s given me something I never could’ve given myself in this moment.
Hope. Hope that everything will be okay, and that Tokyo is hiding the inspiration I’ve been searching for.
I’m hunched over the desk in my tatami room.
The wastebasket is overflowing with crumpled balls of half-finished sketches.
Colored pencils litter my workspace, and the scent of them being freshly sharpened hovers in the air.
Whitney’s lavender Polaroid is still hanging up against the wall, reminding me to fill it with pictures of Tokyo, but I can’t even think about that with this hot lamp cooking my forehead.
I wipe my face for the billionth time and check my phone again.
4:50 a.m.
My internal clock is still out of alignment. On one hand, it’s impossible for me to sleep. On the other, I love it when dark bags form under my eyes. Looking like a vampire is the hottest thing about me.
Tonight has been one of those nights where I don’t see the point in sleeping when I’m only going to wake up in a few hours.
Besides, I’m so stressed that I can’t shut my brain off.
I tried snuggling with Boba in my futon.
But even with my eyes closed, I couldn’t stop imagining Yua’s tattoos and what advice she’d give me.
What could she say that I haven’t thought of before?
I’ve already gone through the old, half-finished sketches on my tablet for inspiration.
Other than the fact that I realized I’ve come a long way from doodling things in elementary school, it didn’t awaken anything new inside me.
I even scrolled through the posts of my favorite influencers and daydreamed about giving their outfits the Lilyn touch.
But each time my thoughts wandered, I pictured the admissions staff at CIF judging my application.
Seeing my name. Knowing who I am. And not being enough.
I stretch my arms over my head, and my spine crackles all the way down. Before me is the only sort of well-thought-out design I’ve come up with. I rub my eyes and hold it up to the light. I couldn’t get Yua’s tattoos out of my mind, so I figured I might as well draw them.
This design is one that I’ve never thought of before.
Most of my gowns cover everything from the neck to the toes.
The more skin I have, the more I can use it as a canvas for material.
But after seeing Yua, that foundational belief has shifted.
What if the canvas and the material were the same thing?
My sketch features a bodysuit that carves out all the places Yua’s tats are exposed.
The bodysuit is solid black, but there’s nothing boring about it.
Ruffles flow down her chest, adding a point of interest to the design.
Lace and sheer material cover her tats in a way that’s translucent enough for them to be seen.
It’s a design intended to be a backdrop while Yua is the centerpiece.
Bodysuits don’t really relate to Asian Studies, but for the first time in months, it’s fun to just sketch something that no one else will see.
Especially not Mrs. Matsumoto. She wouldn’t take me seriously if she found out I was doodling pictures of her daughter in my spare time.
But maybe this bodysuit is a step in a new direction.
On the flip side, I’m not sure how I feel about branching out of my comfort zone when I should be homing in on the things I already know.
I set my sketch back down and glance at my phone again: 4:57.
I know there’s no point in sleeping, but my eyes have grown heavy.
I switch the lamp off and use my arms as a pillow on my desk.
I’ll just rest my eyes and hope that I dream of the perfect plan for my collection. Or maybe I’ll dream of Japanese coffee.
My phone alarm chirps, and I shoot up in my seat.
It takes me a moment to remember where I am.
My hand is numb from sleeping on it, and so is my butt from sitting at my desk too long.
I check the time as I turn off the alarm—I’ve been asleep for three hours, yet it feels like all I’ve done is blink.
In an hour more, I’ll be stepping into Cuppa Coffee to speak with Yua.
Yua.
Even the thought of seeing her again is enough to jolt me out of my haze.
Strands of my hair cling to the dried drool on my cheek, and I totally didn’t brush my teeth last night.
She may not be my mentor, but I still feel like I need to impress her somehow—show her that I’ve got a lot of potential.
I don’t have much time to get ready, but if I’m going to convince Yua to help and not spill my secret, I should probably look as presentable today as I did in my Neck Lace gown.
A knock sounds at my door. Aiko’s voice is muffled when she speaks. “Lilyn? You ready? The train leaves in thirty minutes.”
What?
“Um, I…” is all I get out before Aiko slides the door open. She’s ready to go. Her cheeks are powdered in coral blush, and her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. Then her gaze slides over to my desk—to my sketch of Yua.
I lean over my drawing so she can’t see anything.
“What’s that?” Aiko asks. So much for trying to hide my art.
If the thought of seeing Yua this morning didn’t wake me, the fear pumping through my veins right now sure does. Aiko can’t see this sketch of Yua. No one can! They can’t get the idea that I’m now obsessed with my mentor’s daughter. I just really like her tats.
“Oh, you know.” I try to brush it off. “Doodles. Sketches. Pencil shavings…”
Aiko steps into my room, and my heart shoots up into my skull. I flip my paper over so that she can’t see it. A bubble of sweat wets the top of my lip. Hopefully, she can’t see that, either.
“Show me,” Aiko says.
“Trust me.” I reach for everything on my desk and pile it over my drawing of Yua. “It’s only a color swab. I’m trying to figure out what palette I want to use.”
“You’re goth. Isn’t your color swab just all black?” Aiko asks.
I hold her gaze and my breath. Dammit.
After a beat too long, Aiko finally shrugs. “Eh, color swabs sound kind of boring anyway.”
“Sure do.” I slowly let out my breath. When she turns to my closet, I know she’s lost interest. Thank all the gods and their gods. There’s no way I can get through coffee with Yua if Aiko’s wiggling her brows at me the whole time.
“What are you going to wear?” Aiko asks.
“That’s…a good question,” I admit. “What do you think I should wear?”
Aiko rummages in my closet for a moment before she pulls out my autumn qipao. “Yua’s always wanted a tattoo of a dragon on her forearm. This would make a great conversation starter.”
I blink at Aiko, but her attention is centered on the purple dragons climbing up my black gown. They shimmer when she takes the garment off the hanger and holds it up to the light spilling in through the shoji screens.
“Um, yeah, I’ll wear that one,” I say, climbing out of my seat and taking the dress from Aiko. If anything can follow up my Neck Lace gown, it’s my autumn qipao.
Twenty minutes later, my corset is on, my boots are strapped, and I’ve glued on a pair of fluffy faux lashes.
My hair is pulled up into two buns that resemble panda ears atop my head.
If I’m going to survive this summer heat, the least I can do is lift the hair off my neck.
Once I’m dressed, I give myself a twirl in front of my full-length mirror.
The sleeves are long and flowy—almost like a traditional hanfu.
They ripple around me like I’m wearing a gown made of black water and glittering purple dragons.
“Perfect!” Aiko clasps her hands in front of herself. And then her stomach rumbles. “Guess it’s time for breakfast now, huh?”
The bags under my eyes are deep purple. I love the contrast of color with my ivory skin, because I look as dead as I feel. It really is time for coffee.